Nine Months
by 823freckles
Summary: Nine months of Alana Bloom's pregnancy. A companion piece to "Musings on Time."
1. Genesis

Title: Genesis  
Series: Part 1 of the Nine Months series  
Fandom: Hannibal  
Rating: nc-17  
Disclaimer: Not Mine.  
Author's Notes: See end of drabble.

* * *

_0 months_

Hannibal is a study in dichotomies, alternatively rough, then gentle.

Right now, he towers over her, he on his haunches, running soft fingertips over her thighs. A light push and she parts them willingly. He leans down and she can feel his warm breath on her. Then he bites her thigh. She cries out and arches her back, grabbing onto his short hair for leverage. He soothes the bite with a gentle lap of his tongue, which he then traces up her left thigh to her cleft. Here he pauses.

Alana wriggles against the wide hands holding her hips. "Hannibal, please," she whines.

He looks up at her, eyes full of wicked heat. "Yes, Ms. Bloom? Tell me exactly what you require of me. You know how I appreciate precision of language."

"Put your mouth on me. Eat me ou-"

She is cut off as he licks up her folds with one quick swipe. "I think I can oblige." He licks his lips, tasting her, and she shivers. Then he lowers his mouth again.

It feels as though he is consuming her, devouring her whole.

She bucks off the bed, riding his face in a steady rhythm as he pleasures her. When she gets close, she keens. Then she cries out his name once- "Hannibal!" – as she orgasms.

She closes her eyes as she tries to slow her breathing. No matter how many times they've done this, it feels as though every time is new. He is a skilled lover, and she is once again his willing pupil.

She keeps her eyes shut as she listens to the shift of sheets, feels the steady weight of him settle on top of her.

"Alana," he croons.

She opens her eyes and reaches down between her legs, grasps his thick penis, and guides him into her. He groans and palms her breast as he holds himself above her with one muscular arm. He slides out, ever so slowly, and then plunges back into her, oh so hard and fast. She cries out in shock at the sudden stretch and digs her nails into Hannibal's back. He growls in response.

It seems to Alana as though they've merged into one body; he's so close to her and he keeps thrusting deeper and deeper.

She feels it building, coiling in her stomach as he rides her. She bites her lip as he begins to trail kisses and nips across her throat, being careful to never leave a mark. (That would be rude, unbecoming of him.) Alana grasps his face and turns his mouth to her lips, kissing him. Then she bites his lip hard, just how he likes it.

As he comes, throbbing inside her, she follows him over the edge into oblivion.

_1 month_

Alana wakes from a nightmare of a wendigo looming over her.

She turns over in bed and reaches for her phone on the bedside table. Her cell phone indicates that she has missed three calls and three voicemails.

She stretches, arms long and lean above her head, back arching off the bed. Then she sighs and picks up her phone. She slides her finger across the phone's screen to unlock it. One missed call is from Hannibal at 11:47 pm.

She smiles, for she knows she is falling in love. Her smile turns to a frown when she sees two missed calls from Jack. She listens to her voicemails.

The first is from Hannibal.

"Alana, my dear. There has been an emergency at my house. Don't fret, just please come as soon as you can. I will see you soon."

Her stomach clenches in fear, despite his reassurances not to fret. "An emergency?" she thinks. "Is he alright?"

She wants to cry out, and nearly jumps from her bed, cursing herself for not getting the message earlier. Why'd she have to put her phone on silent?

Jack's commanding voice stops her from jumping out of bed to rush to Hannibal's house.

"Alana, do not go to Hannibal Lecter's house. I repeat, do NOT go to Hannibal's. You're in danger. I'll explain later this morning, just stay at home."

She trembles, more than ever fearful for Hannibal's safety. Horrid scenarios run through her head. "Did Will…" she stops herself from continuing that thought. Though she has tried to hate Will for wanting to kill Hannibal, in her heart, she continued to believe in his inherent goodness.

She forces herself to listen to the last message. It is from Bella Crawford.

"Hello Alana, this is Phyllis Crawford. Jack and Will Graham are in at Reston Hospital. Jack is asking after you. When you are able to come, we're in room 815. Thank you."

Puzzled, Alana calls Hannibal first. There is no answer. She tries again, and there is still no answer.

Her heels click down the hall of the hospital as she hurries to Jack's room. She knocks on the door and hears Bella's voice, "Come in." She enters the room.

She gasps at the sight of Jack. He is bruised and bloodies, with cuts crossing his face and arms.

She rushes to him. "Jack, what happened?" Her voice rises in panic. "Where is Hannibal? Where is Will?"

Jack answers, his voice a rasp. "Will is in surgery. They don't know if he'll make it. Hannibal is in custody, where he belongs."

The last he nearly spits out. "He tried to kill us."

Alana cries out, a cry of pure pain, and collapses into a chair by Jack's bedside.

_2 months_

With the events of the last month, Alana figures she can't be blamed for forgetting that she hasn't had her period. "It must just be the stress. It has to be stress."

Still, she wanders down the aisle of her grocery store. She grabs pickles, ice cream, and finally, makes her way to the aisle containing pregnancy tests. She examines the various brands, and chooses a two pack. She feels flushed, and can't help looking around her, as if she is being watched. The thought is ridiculous. She is just another woman, about to find out if her life is irrevocably changed.

When she gets home, she takes the pregnancy tests out of the paper bag. She starts to read the instructions on the back of the box. "Remove the one-piece test-stick from its individual foil wrapper…"

She finishes reading the directions quickly. Then she urinates on the stick, and sets it aside. Three minutes. She sets the timer on her phone and sighs. "God, no. No. I can't be having his baby."

The longest three minutes of her life pass as she paces her small bathroom. When her phone timer rings, she jumps. Alana turns around slowly, suddenly terrified to look at the white stick. She bites her lip and steps up to the edge of her bathroom sink.

A pale pink "+" sign and time seems to freeze in Alana Bloom's world. "Oh no. This can't be happening."

* * *

What do you think? Should I continue?


	2. Daddy's Girl

Title: Daddy's Girl  
Series: Part 2 of the Nine Months series  
Fandom: Hannibal  
Rating: pg-13-ish  
Disclaimer: Not Mine.  
Author's Notes: See end of drabble.

* * *

_3 months_

Alana buys "What to Expect When You're Expecting" and hides it in her lunch bag. She reads it between lectures and consulting, soaking up the information. Much of it is familiar from receiving her medical degree, but now, she has a new perspective on it. She still hasn't made up her mind yet on carrying the fetus to term. She knows she should have made up her mind by now. In the deepest recesses of her mind, she thinks she already has decided. But she is Alana Bloom, prone to deep reflection, not action. So she continues to ponder her choice, what it means, and its consequences.

As she excuses herself once again from her Introduction to Behavioral Science course to speed walk to the restroom, she thinks that morning sickness is definitely a misnomer in her case. Her "morning sickness" occurs primarily around lunch time. She thinks the smell of certain undergraduates triggers it; they still stink of adolescence, that sour yet musty scent, covered by too much cologne. She never thought her students smelled particularly bad before, but her sense of smell is heightened now.

She remembers how Hannibal could smell the corpses in the examining room and know details of the crime that no one else could, simply by scent. She remembers how he'd smell what she'd eaten for lunch as he cooked her dinner, rebuking her for her unhealthy choices.

She wonders how many people she's eaten at Hannibal's dinner table.

She leans over the toilet and heaves, coughs, heaves. Her stomach, her throat, her jaw aches, as she vomits every bit of food inside of her body into the bowl.

She heads to the lab at Quantico after finishing her afternoon teaching. There is a new case she's been asked to consult on. Alana doesn't know the details as she walks into the lab and sees the team assembled around an examining table.

Saliva floods her mouth as she smells roast meat in the room. She's been craving meat during her pregnancy, going on binges of pork, beef, and lamb. Someone has been eating barbeque for lunch. She wonders who would eat barbeque amongst the corpses. "Probably Zeller," she thinks.

"Alana. Join us." Jack motions her over to the table.

Jack begins speaking. "We have here a killer who has been amputating his or her victims' limbs..."

"...before literally 'roasting their torsos like a pig on a spit,'" Will finishes.

That delicious smell of charred meat wasn't somebody's lunch.

This time, she has to run, not walk, to the restroom. It turns out that her "morning sickness" isn't simply confined to lunch time either.

_4 months_

When Alana wakes in a cold sweat, she knows it's the wendigo nightmare again that wakes her. Except this time the wendigo is inside of her. She is a black wave, darkness embodied, and the wendigo is inside of her.

Except it's not the wendigo at all. It's her fetus. Her baby.

She's woken from her nightmare in cold sweat by her own laughter. It rings loud and strange in the darkness of her room. She's always been a light sleeper so she awakens when her nightmare was ended by a message in Morse code from her womb. A flutter like a beat, and then two short little bursts. They're so faint, these flutters, but very real. They feel almost like tickles, deep inside. She gasps and lays her hands over her womb. The sweat dries as she flushes warm from holding her breath, waiting for another flutter.

She waits to feel her fetus move again. "Come on, baby. Move."

Hours seem to pass as she waits for the flutter, the tickle, the movement, again. But the fetus doesn't move, so she curls up under her blanket with her hands over her womb. Eventually, she sleeps.

Another night, another nightmare of the wendigo. Again, she is woken by the fetus' movement.

She wants to feel it move again when she is wide awake. She gets up to prepare herself a snack. She wanders to her kitchen, swaying her hips as though she balances an infant upon them. She talks to the fetus as she prepares her snack. "Little one. Move for your mama. C'mon, little fetus. I...I love you. Love you, little one. Move for me, baby." She talks fast, speeding through the words over and over again, feeling foolish. But she knows that fetuses develop hearing around the 16th week, so her baby should be able to hear her, and may even be beginning to recognize her voice.

She starts to recite poetry to the baby as she sits, letting her stomach calm after her late night snack. She runs through all she knows, poems by Tennyson, Whitman, Cummings. Then she starts pulling books off her shelves, reading snippets of novels, non-fiction, and more poetry.

The last book she takes off the shelf is a book of French poetry. She hesitates as she runs her fingers along the spine, wondering why she hasn't yet thrown out the book given to her by Hannibal, so many years ago at her graduation from medical school.

She pulls the volume off the shelf and opens it to a random page near the middle. Clearing her throat she begins reading. "Vous demandez si l'amour rend heureuse; Il le promet, croyez-le, fût-ce un jour. Ah! pour un jour d'existence amoureuse, qui ne mourrait? La vie est dans l'amour."

Alana drops the book as her baby flutters inside her, suddenly awake, moving, and so very _alive_. Alana trembles with equal parts fear and pleasure.

_5 months_

Alana thumbs through her mail as she transfers her weight from one foot to the other. She's started to gain some serious weight. Her obstetrician tells her she is "right on target." Actually, the baby is "a little on the small safe, but there is nothing to be worried about." The baby she is lugging around certainly doesn't feel on the small side, and wearing high heels is starting to hurt more with the extra weight.

She pauses when she gets to the heavy mauve envelope. The paper is like cloth beneath her fingertips. There is no return address, but she knows who it is from. She reads the familiar script of her name and address. The same script that she read on many a B (or occasionally, an A) paper.

Dropping the rest of the mail on her credenza, she takes a deep breath in preparation. Then she slides her index finger under the envelope's flap, ripping it open, and pulls out the letter.

It smells like Hannibal.

She starts to read.

"Do you dream of me, Ms. Bloom?

They have taken away my books. Fortunately, I have in my head a compendium of poetry and cookbooks. The cookbooks are useless to me in here, as you know. The poetry, my dear, is not. Do you recall the book of poetry I gave you when you graduated? Allow me to quote one of my favorite poems from that volume."

She knows even before reading further what poem it will be.

"Et, dans sa fièvre alors lente à guérir, vous souffrirez, ou vous ferez souffrir. Dès qu'on l'a vu, son absence est affreuse. How many have suffered for your sins, Ms. Bloom? How many still suffer? You deny it, but I know my absence _est affreuse_ for you.

I doubt you will call on me. So I must offer my congratulations from afar."

Her hands start to shake.

"Name her Mischa, after my sister.

Alana.

H.L."

* * *

The poem Alana reads to the baby and Hannibal sends to Alana is "L'amour" by Marceline Desbordes-Valmore.

Is there anything you'd like to see happen in the rest of Alana's pregnancy?


	3. Like Moth to Flame

Title: Like Moth to Flame  
Series: Part 3 of the Nine Months series  
Fandom: Hannibal  
Rating: pg-13-ish  
Disclaimer: Not Mine.  
Author's Notes: You should be listening to my Hannibloom fanmix Flame and Moth as you read this series, by the way, since that has been what I've been listening to as I write. Set the tone. Find it at my tumblr, 823freckles. /shameless self promotion

* * *

_6 months_

Alana knows she has waited too long to tell. It's becoming increasingly obvious, even though she has only recently started showing, much later than expected. Her doctor informed her that she has a retroverted uterus, which is why she is only just starting to significantly show. And if anyone has noticed that she has been wearing much looser fitting, flowing clothing than her usual form-fitting wrap dresses and tops, no one has commented on it.

But it's time to tell.

Applesauce runs up to greet her as she steps out of her car, having driven throughout the day from her parents' home in Canada, whom she had visited to tell her news.

"Thank you for watching her," she tells Will, who is walking towards her, followed closely by Winston.

"It was no trouble, Alana. How's the family?"

She bends down gingerly and hooks Applesauce's leash onto her collar. Her loose dress bunches up around her belly. She stands quickly and glances at Will. He is looking away but there is a flush on his cheeks.

"It's the heat," she thinks.

"They're doing well. I haven't seen my mother in so long. She looks a lot stronger since going into remission."

He nods, his mind clearly elsewhere. "Come inside. I'll get you a drink."

She follows him inside. "Just water please." She sits at his little table as he takes a glass from the cupboard and fills it from the tap. He moves to sit next to her and places the glass of water beside her hands resting on the tabletop.

"You're pregnant, aren't you? Why didn't you tell me, Alana?" Will asks, his hand moving to rest over hers.

"Because it's _his_," she cries. Will pulls his hand from hers as if scalded.

"Dr. Lecter's." He stands, his chair clattering to the floor behind him.

She nods.

"You're actually going to carry Hannibal Lecter's child to term." He paces, agitated.

She nods again, her words having departed her during Will's outburst.

"Who knows? Does Jack know? Do your parents know whose child it is? Does _he_ know?" His voice rises with each spoken question, until he is nearly yelling the last.

"Jack knows, has known for awhile. My parents don't know what he did. And yes, he knows. I don't know how he knows, but he knows," she whispers.

Will runs his hands through his hair, causing it to stick up on end. "Get out."

"Will…"

"Get out. I warned you, and you didn't…you didn't listen." His face is flushed, his eyes dark and wild. "You sicken me," he spits out.

She stands abruptly, her own chair falling to the floor with a crash. She pulls Applesauce from the house.

Will's door slams behind her.

_7 months_

Alana opens her car door and swings her umbrella around her swollen belly, and then presses the button to open the umbrella. It opens with a whoosh and she steps out of her car into the rain.

She can feel his pull even from outside the building. And his push. She is like a magnet that cannot decide its polarity; she feels alternatively compelled to run into the building, and run from it.

"Why am I even here?" she wonders as she makes her way to the entrance. She has no answer for herself. She just wants the dreams-the nightmares- to stop. Alana doesn't know why she thinks seeing Hannibal will stop the nightmares. If anything, seeing him runs the risk of making the nightmares worse. But here she is, standing in front of the Baltimore State Hospital for the Criminally Insane.

She opens the door of the hospital.

Dr. Chilton's replacement is a young doctor named Herveaux; he greets her with a Louisiana accent, old Creole and French in his voice, surprising because of his youth. He doesn't even look at her bump when he greets her, and she wonders if that is naiveté. Is it foolish of him to allow a pregnant woman around Hannibal Lecter? Or is this an experiment; will he be recording the conversation between her and Hannibal, as Dr. Chilton surely would have done? She finds herself filled with distaste for the young doctor. She doesn't want him using her conversation with Hannibal as a tool in his attempts at treatment. She finds comfort in the knowledge that Hannibal will not allow Herveaux to manipulate him or dissect him.

"Ms. Bloom?"

"Dr. Bloom." She corrects him.

"Ahh, yes, Doctor. Sorry, ma'am." He clears his throat and continues, "When you get to his cell, do not touch the bars. Do not approach the bars. If he attempts to pass you anything, do not accept it."

"Yes, Doctor."

"He's dangerous, ma'am."

"I know."

Herveaux finally glances down at her swollen abdomen. "I know you do."

So he knows then. She places one hand on her bump and holds her head high, glaring at the young doctor.

He doesn't flinch. "Follow me then."

She follows him down the hall, walking behind him in silence. She loses herself in the maze of turns; left, right, left, left, right again, through many sealed and locked doors and corridors.

She enters the long hallway where Hannibal resides at the end. "I put a chair out for you. Remember my warnings, Doctor." He turns, flashes his badge at the beeping reader, and exits. She is left standing alone at the end of the long corridor. She walks down the hall, ignoring the catcalls and jeers from the other inmates.

She stands before the chair and waits. Hannibal turns.

"Alana. I must say, I'm surprised you called on me."

"I'm surprised too."

He motions towards the chair. "Please, sit. I see you're still wearing heels. Your feet must ache at this advanced stage of your pregnancy."

He sits, and though she hesitates, she sits as well. He is right, of course. Her feet constantly ache.

She is suddenly engrossed in a memory of her formerly delicate ankles in his large hands as he massaged her feet after a long day.

Sometimes she still has difficulty putting her memories of him together with killer, with cannibal. They don't fit, don't mesh. When she looks up at him, it is as though he knows exactly what she is thinking; his eyes gleam in the low light inside his cell.

She waits for him to speak; she doesn't want to be the one to break the silence. He stares at her, head cocked to the side, as if she is a particularly interesting specimen in his office, or perhaps, on his surgical table. She wonders how often he thought of eating her.

"Constantly," he answers her unspoken question. She jumps in her chair.

"I don't know why I'm here," she whispers.

"You are here because you are still drawn to me, perhaps more than ever, now that you carry the child of our union within you."

"I hate you," she spits out.

"You hate me precisely because you loved me." He leans forward in his chair as if he is a bird about to take flight. "You hate yourself, Alana. Because you still love me. How do you sleep at night, aching for me as you do?"

Tears well at the corner of her eyes and she lowers her head. "I don't sleep well."

"Of course you don't. Think of the fetus, Alana. Think of _our baby_. You need to take better care of yourself," he chastises her, his voice teasing and light. That is what makes it cruel.

She didn't come here for this, to break down in front of him. She grits her teeth and raises her head. She will turn the tables; she will take control of the conversation. "Who is Mischa?"

He scoots back abruptly in his chair, as if she has just hit him. "You didn't come here to talk about my sister."

"I did," she contests. "You want me to name _my_ baby after her."

She scoots closer, now almost at the bars, ignoring Dr. Herveaux's warnings. "Tell me about her, Hannibal."

She stands, hands on the bars of his cell. "_Did you eat her too?_"

He growls, low in his throat, and the baby kicks her as if in response.

An orderly is suddenly at her side. "Ma'am, back away from the bars please." He gently takes her arm and leads her away.

When she makes it outside, she leans against her car, letting the rain wash over her, umbrella unopened in her hand. She clutches her stomach, feeling the baby kick and kick, and cries.

* * *

I had absolutely no plans to have Alana visit Hannibal, but she had plans of her own, I guess. Writing Hannibal is really hard! How do you think I did?


	4. Caul

Title: Caul  
Series: Part 4 of the Nine Months series  
Fandom: Hannibal  
Rating: pg-13-ish  
Disclaimer: Not Mine.

* * *

_8 months_

Alana feels like she is wearing a mask, or perhaps a caul, as she sits among the happy women in her Lamaze class. She feigns being social, but she feels so alone. They converse and laugh all around her, supported by their smiling yet uneasy husbands. She sits alone, waiting for her partner to arrive, a fake smile plastered on her face. She rests her hand on her distended abdomen, occasionally rubbing to calm herself as much as her baby.

When Jack walks in the door, she waves him over. She'd asked Jack to be her Lamaze partner, bashful and ashamed. It was supposed to be Hannibal; it never would be Hannibal. She feels like she lives her days in a haze of what could have been. But Hannibal is the Chesapeake Ripper, a murderous cannibal, and he can never be the loving father she wants for her baby.

Still, she mourns. It has been seven months since she'd found out, and every day, she mourns not only her loss, but her child's loss.

Sometimes, she still dreams of a different outcome. She dreams of Hannibal in class with her. She pictures the Hannibal she thought she knew.

He'd whisper facts about childbirth in her ear as the instructor taught, and she'd chide him for being rude, knowing that would quiet him. After class, he'd take her back to his home and make love to her, their baby cradled between their bodies as they moved towards climax. He'd tell her he loved her, something he'd never done. And he'd rest his wide hands on her womb, telling their daughter that he loved her too. She pictures a Hannibal she knew only in her heart, a Hannibal that doesn't exist. She loves that Hannibal, and she can't help but hate herself for it. And she mourns for him, every day, she mourns still.

But Jack had agreed to be her partner, and so far, he'd been a great partner.

"Last day of class, Alana. Are you ready?" he asks.

"To 'graduate' Lamaze class, or to have the baby?" She laughs, and hopes it only sounds false to her ears. "Neither, I suppose."

The instructor speaks. "It's our last day together! We're going to review everything we've gone over in the last 6 weeks, starting with our breathing during the labor process."

She listens to "Breathe, Alana. Breathe." And she closes her eyes as she practices her breathing, picturing Hannibal's hand in hers instead of Jack's.

_9 months_

Her water breaks at Hannibal's trial, and for a moment, she sits completely still, utterly flummoxed. Then she whispers into Jack's ear, and he helps her to her feet, the puddle of amniotic fluid forgotten on the bench seat.

The drive to the hospital passes in a blur. Before she knows it, she is on the hospital bed, monitors strapped around her belly.

Jack stays with her for a while. Then she is alone. Alone as she paces the hallways, alone as she showers, trying to let the warm water soothe her, alone as she lies, legs in stirrups, as the doctor examines her cervix and exclaims that she is "dilated 10 centimeters, Alana, we're ready to go!"

They wheel her to the delivery room, where she lies on the bed, pushing in vain. The nurse suggests she push on her hands and knees, letting gravity help her exhausted body, and she begins to move into position. As she moves, she feels dizzy, and sways on her bed.

"Slowly, dear, slow," the nurse admonishes, grasping her arm to steady her.

They place an oxygen mask around her mouth. In a haze, she sees Hannibal in front of her. She hears his voice. "Alana, my dear. Push. Breathe. Push. You can do this, my darling."

Even though he is only a hallucination of her weary mind, it helps. She breathes deeply, as deeply as she can, and bears down. Again, and again, she stares into Hannibal's maroon eyes as she pushes. She lets her love, her misguided, hateful love for her baby's father, guide her as she feels her baby crown, burning, and then as she feels her baby's head exit her body.

"Oh!" The doctor exclaims.

Even though she is thoroughly exhausted, Alana turns her head towards the doctor, her body held up by shaky arms. "What?! What is it?!" she cries.

"Everything's okay, Alana. She just has a caul. I'm just going to remove it before I give her to you. One more big, steady push now."

Alana turns her head back towards the wall. Hannibal's face is gone. She screams, and pushes again.

Her daughter slides from her body, and the sudden emptiness makes her cry out again. Another nurse cuts the cord as Alana's nurse helps her turn in bed and lie down.

The doctor removes the caul and places her daughter in her arms.

Other than the small fuzz of Alana's characteristic dark hair on her head, she looks so much like her father. She looks like Hannibal; she has Hannibal's lips, nose, ears, and possibly a more feminine version of his chin. And she is beautiful. Even covered in a thin layer of vernix and blood, she is so beautiful.

Alana holds her daughter for what feels like only a moment before the nurse gently takes her away to weigh her, get her Apgar score, and clean her up. Alana thinks only of her daughter across the room as she delivers the placenta.

Then her crying baby is back in her arms. She unbuttons her gown and places the baby to her breast. Her crying stops as she nuzzles against her mother's breast, searching for the nipple. Once she finds Alana's nipple, she latches on tight. Alana gasps at the sensation, filled with waves of simple pleasure. She smiles but tears run down her cheeks.

Her daughter finally opens her eyes as one tear from her mother's eyes falls on her smooth, soft cheek. Her eyes are maroon in color, already they are maroon, just like her father's. Alana lets out a strangled cry of joy and sorrow.

The nurse smiles down at Alana and her daughter.

"What's her name, mama?"

"Leta. Leta Mischa Bloom."

From the chapel down the hall, a sonata plays.

* * *

Well, there it is. I hope you all liked it!

Why Leta, if you're wondering? There's a famous female psychologist named Leta, and since Alana is a psychiatrist, I found that fitting. Also, it is close to Leda, a reference to Leda and the Swan, which is referenced in Hannibal (the book and the TV show). Finally, it means "joyful." I think it's perfect for my little Hannibloom baby.


End file.
